Allergic to Soy
by Skyskater
Summary: My life sucks. Gay roommate, no food in the fridge, I hate my university major but I'm too stubborn to do anything about it, and...oh, hey, that barista over there is pretty cute. GrimmUlqui, coffee shop romance, T for language
1. The Hissing Tomato

_Yeah, haven't written in a while, let's see if I still have it..._

_GrimmUlqui again, just because. Grimmjow's POV. _

* * *

><p>"The just are two, and are not understood there;<br>Envy and Arrogance and Avarice  
>Are the three sparks that have all hearts enkindled."<p>

Okay. Three words.

What. The. Fuck.

It's like Dante didn't even speak English. Actually, that's kind of like all the classical writers. You'd think Shakespeare, or Bronte, or whoever, never had the common sense to write their works in a way so that modern people could actually understand them.

"I BITE MY THUMB AT YOU!"

Oh, excuse me. Was that an insult? Didn't even see it coming.

I mean, at least "a plague on both your houses!" is actually understandable. Dude, it's totally chill if my fam gets malaria within the week. I'm cool with that. Thanks for making yourself clear.

Have I mentioned that I hate English with a passion?

* * *

><p>Meet me.<p>

Name: Grimmjow Jeagerjacques.

Occupation: Starving English major.

Location: Why? You'd think you were trying to stalk me or something, and God only knows I have enough trouble in my life without unnecessary Internet predators tracking my every move and picking up my used tissues or food wrappers in the hopes of swabbing off a tiny speck of DNA and using it to make baby Grimmjow fetuses that would then be implanted into their bodies so that nine months later I could be sued for child support. I don't know. I have incredible paranoia over those kinds of things happening.

But besides all that, I've been having a terrible day.

University SUCKS. It's not all glamorous like you probably think it is.

There aren't any hot chicks (or guys, for that matter, I prefer keeping my options open) on my floor, and my RA is a total prick who looks like he molests people for a hobby. Also, if this was a manga, he'd be that guy whose eyes are ALWAYS closed, no matter what. You know, like Lau from Black Butler, that one guy from Prince of Tennis, I think I've made my point.

Food? There is none. Then why do I have a mini fridge? That's a good question. The last time I checked it, my blatantly gay roommate had been chilling a multilayered Jello salad in it. There was also a random tomato that promptly hissed at me when I tried to pick it up. The tomato fucking hissed at me, and I proceeded to call it out when my roommate (cue Szayel here) ran into the room, grabbed the tomato, and cuddled it lovingly to his chest, all the while glaring at me. You know. Because it's totally normal to find a hissing tomato and cuddle it.

Roommate? Not fucking normal at all. Other than the fact that he's some kind of science major, and other than the fact that he's blatantly gay, I mean, I don't know, there's just something about him that's incredibly weird. And you'd think gay guys would be massively neat and organized about their stuff? Hell no. The half of the room that belongs to me is ok, as far as guys' rooms can get, but his side of the room, it's like Hurricane Katrina met with, I don't know, some tornado from hell and had a kid, which promptly beat the hell out of the left half of the room.

WHERE ARE THE PARTIES? WHY AM I NOT INVITED TO THESE PARTIES? Good Lord, you'd think just because I don't play football or row or do something remotely athletic that I'd be shunned forever.

Forever alone? Yeah, I think so.

The classes themselves? Eh. I suppose they're not so bad, but I really wonder why I'm doing an English degree.

Well, I suppose my approach to picking a major was pretty haphazard anyway. Make a spreadsheet of majors, close your eyes, spin around three times, and jab the computer screen. Whichever box your finger lands on (or the majority of it, anyway, those boxes can be damn tiny), that's your major. And congratulations. Choose English.

Honestly, what good is an English degree really going to do me? Teacher, maybe?

Like hell.

Like I'd want to spend the better part of my life reading boring texts in monotone and attempting to find hidden subtleties in sentences like "They died." Proverbial death? Death of the writer's soul? A period of manic depression?

Or maybe they just died. Simple.

Why is there this need to complicate things so?

* * *

><p>Anyway.<p>

I spend the better part of my days doing, well, pretty much nothing. Maybe the occasional paper, pick up the occasional book.

Put on my glasses while reading some intellectual-looking book or newspaper. Makes me look hot. Bitches love the intellectual look.

Well, I mean, I assume they do, they always talk about how much they love guys with glasses...

Then again, that's in theory. In all practicality, the glasses thing hasn't gone so well for me or Szayel. Like anything could go well for that mass of pink and rainbows.

* * *

><p>I like coffee shops.<p>

They smell nice, have those relaxing chairs and tables, and sometimes leather couches where you can just sit and stare at the ceiling and not have your motives questioned. And at least it's not weird to go into a coffee shop, buy a drink, and then work on something on your laptop.

If you did that in some kind of fast food chain, like McDonald's, you'd probably get castrated on the spot by some demented employee demanding to know "why the fuck you weren't eating your fries" and "think about the children in Africa!"

Fun fact: Did you know that McDonald's made some new sandwich some time ago called the McAfrica, which was marketed in said continent while said continent was undergoing a famine? Needless to say that sandwich was soon withdrawn.

But anyway. Love coffee shops.

I'm in one right now.

About to order.

Well, hey, look at that, a cute barista.

Large green eyes, pale skin, messy haircut that just screams EMO or HIPSTER or some kind of emo-hipster combo (EMOSTER?). Delightfully pale skin, just the tiniest shade of off-white mixed with cream. Slender build. Obscure band tee, black jeans (at least, I assume they're black, from what I can see behind his apron). Three silver hoops in the right ear. Dear Lord, I think I'm speechless.

What do I do? Do I say hi? Which seat should I take? Fucking Rebecca Black, stuck in my head for the millionth time this year.

Handy-Dandy little name tag says it's Ulquiorra H. Thanks for helping a guy out, Mr. Name Tag.

I order a tall, iced caffe latte. He asks me if I want soy or whole milk.

His voice? Just that perfect tone of exasperated, elegantly bored, and a hint of I'm-too-good-for-this-place. Holy crap.

I do believe an Operation Pick-Him-Up is in order.

* * *

><p><em>So, what do you guys think? R&amp;R, and if you have time, go to my profile and answer the poll please :) <em>

_CHALLENGES ACCEPTED_

_-Skyskater_


	2. Leer Provocatively, Once, Twice, Thrice

_So I woke up this morning, and wondered why my brother was still home (why wasn't he at Chinese school or whatever), and then I remembered that today is the 4th of July. I'm incredibly patriotic. I swear. _

_Also, I realized last chapter (thanks to many reviewers) that his name tag said Ulquiorra H. I MESSED UP. IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE H. Sorry about that._

_Insert of Ulquiorra's POV._

* * *

><p>Thank God for small favors. The coffee shop is less crowded than I imagined it would be, so I suppose I have time to try and chat him up.<p>

"So...how are you?"

He just stares at me.

"I'm fine."

O..kay...give me nothing to go off, why don't you?

Ulquiorra used noncommittal response! It's super effective!

"So, um...you come here often?"

I could face palm right now. Face desk. Face FLOOR, even. You would think an English major would have SOME kind of creativity in pick up lines, but NO. Right now all I can think about is some really lame Pokemon pick-up lines, or some really vulgar ones that I'm sure would not have impressed him. (Namely, I CHOOSE YOU, ULQUIORRA...CHU)

"I work here."

Why yes. Yes. I knew that. Totally.

"So...do you like working here? I'm kind of looking for a job and I was wondering if this might be any fun."

"It's alright, I suppose. I'd say it's far better than sitting in an extremely comfortable chair, looking extremely frustrated while attempting to annotate Dante's Inferno." He nods toward the book in my hands. "I rather prefer Shakespeare. Dante doesn't even speak English."

Holy crap. This guy. THIS. GUY. (is a god)

"I -"

I can't even finish my sentence before another barista screams out my name and order, butchering my name horribly. This always fucking happens. Told my parents they should have named me something completely normal, like Gregory or something, but no...no one ever really listens to me. Meh. My life is full of MEH.

I take my tall iced caffe latte and, since I really have no reason to stand there and make idle conversation without looking like some massive registered sexual offender who preys on innocent baristas, leave. Yes. That sentence made sense. Reread it if you didn't understand.

I shoot a glance at Ulquiorra before I leave. He's already back to staring down at the counter.

FML.

* * *

><p>Entering my dorm room is like entering the seventh level of Hell itself. No, I am not making any references to Dante's Inferno, because...because no.<p>

"And he thereon, belaboring his pumpkin;  
>The flatters have submerged me here below,<br>Wherewith my tongue was never surfeited."

what is this I don't even...

Anyway.

I enter my dorm room to find a sight that no sane person should ever have to see in their lifetime.

"Hey, Szayel, um, aren't you banned from making mutant, animate vegetables?"

From somewhere amongst a mass of tangled vines, Szayel's voice. "VEGETABLES ARE ANIMATE! THEY LIVE, THEY LIIIIIIIIVEEEEEEEEEE!"

And one particularly thick and slimy vine rose up from the pile that was currently devouring Szayel and waved provocatively at me. I swear if vegetables had faces, this one would have leered at me.

I quickly grab the nearest chair and fend off the mutant vines, all the while slowly backing out the door. Once I'm out, well, chair, I knew you well, and I hope you don't suffer too terrible of a fate. And then I slam the door, and my RA comes barreling around a corner, telling me that I shouldn't slam doors, as I could disrupt other people's studying.

Then he leers provocatively at me, and disappears.

I'm so, so confused.

I mean, I've been leered at provocatively TWICE in the span of five minutes. One of those incidents being from a vegetable.

I suppose I should take it as consolation that at least I'm attractive enough for a plant?

Oh, fuck it all, that's no consolation at all.

Operation Pick-Him-Up was a massive fail.

THE END.

Not.

I don't think so. No fucking way. That would be a lame ass ending to a story that hasn't even really begun yet.

* * *

><p>Where the hell is everyone? Did they all get eaten by zombies or something?<p>

Well, I know Szayel's being sexually violated by a tangle of vines, but all the other people I happen to be acquaintances with (D. Roy, Il Forte, etc etc) are NOWHERE to be found. What is life?

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

Today I met a very odd person with blue hair and blue eyes and glasses. He was very weird.

He asked me how I was doing. And if I came here often. And if I liked working here.

He was too far in my comfort zone for my liking. It was like he was some massively registered sexual offender who preyed on innocent baristas. Not that I would know what that looked like, but it's just a figure of speech. Or something like that. I've never been good at English.

Also, he was reading Dante's Inferno. I observed him sitting in an armchair staring at the book with a look that could make the poor thing burst out into flames with the slightest hint of provocation.

English majors. What torture they have decided to inflict upon their own life.

On a random tangent, my lab partner today brought home some seedlings. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was going to nurture them and create his own jungle inside his dorm room.

When I asked him how he was planning to get the seedlings to grow so quickly, he said, "Why, Ulquiorra, I'd just pump them full of gibberellins and cytokinins and give them plenty of sunlight and water! Obviously."

When I told him that that would make his plants' vines grow ridiculously big, and that he wouldn't be able to give them the nutrients they needed to get that big in only a matter of hours, he leered provocatively at me and said, "Why, Ulquiorra, don't you know? Tentacle porn is all the rage in Japan right now."

...

I'm surrounded by idiots.

* * *

><p><em>Lol I think this is how the chapters are going to be done now. Mostly Grimmjow's POV, and then random bits at the end of the chapter of Ulquiorra's POV on the same things. Or whatever. <em>

_Anyway. CHALLENGES ACCEPTED._

_-Skyskater_


	3. Fluffles The Cat

_Just a warning: I probably won't be updating as frequently this next week, as I'll be in Vegas. [Getting drunk and feeling up hookers, totally.]_

_On another note, if you get bored, go to www. 9gag. com {remove the spaces, as FF is weird about putting links in stories}, and scroll through the pages and laugh. I seriously hope all my favorite mangas update while I'm gone..._

* * *

><p>Today I had to attend a seminar on the euphemisms and literal translations of Dante's Inferno, because apparently there's some kind of deep underlying message underneath all the cantos and commas and other odd marks of punctuation that have no business being there in the first place. I hate seminars. Especially when Aaroniero sits next to me.<p>

Aaroniero's a pretty weird guy. I think he has some kind of psychological disorder. Multiple Personality Disorder or something, maybe mixed in with just a dash of Manic-Depressive. It's like you want to edge away, ever so surreptitiously, but he latches on to your arm like a blood-sucking leech and refuses to let you go. Desperate, much? I think so.

If anyone's a good representation of the Forever Alone meme, it would be this guy. I mean, the guy's so desperate, he hangs out with SZAYEL on occasion. Really. What kind of person would do that? Aaroniero, apparently.

I suppose it's not that he's necessarily a bad person, just a weird one. Like a few days ago, for example, when he and Szayel were busy trying to untangle Szayel from the mass of sexually active vines, he burst out into tears upon hearing that Casey Anthony had been acquitted of murder and aggravated child abuse. [What did you guys think of that, honestly?] I mean, what with the way he was carrying on, you'd think he had been the one acquitted of murder. Aaroniero is the only person I know who can sob violently about a legal case that doesn't even involve him, but doesn't blink an eye at finding one of his friends (who am I kidding, his only friend) entangled in a mass of vines.

In accordance with said vines, Gin, our RA, finally put his foot down. Literally and proverbially. He marched into the room, told Szayel that he "had to get rid of that abomination this instance", but upon setting foot in the room, the vines wrapped around his leg and started to squeeze him like a giant plush toy. Or like a boa constrictor upon presentation of a mouse. Anyway, so, the update on that is that now both Szayel and our RA are trapped inside these vines, which I have collectively dubbed Anaconda. If only I had a video camera. I could probably make some kind of horror movie about this. Scatter red flowers around the room, and you have a really popular Hollywood movie right there. Make millions of dollars at the box office, be forever out of debt. :D

But I don't have a video camera.

And I can't really get close to Anaconda anyway, without it rising up and trying to hump my leg.

Why me?

Well, I'd continue with my rant, but someone's knocking at the door. I wonder whoever it could be.

Knowing my luck, it'll be some kind of rapist or child molester. Maybe a serial killer. Or Hugh Hefner's son-in-law, commissioned by Szayel to make a tentacle porn film or something like that. Apparently it's all the rage in Japan right now.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

I got a call from Szayel a few minutes ago asking me if I could come over to his dorm room and save him from the monstrosity of vines that I told him would get out of control very quickly. Well, he didn't specifically ask for that. I think his exact words were, "Ulquiorra, I do believe you are missing out on some fantastic vine sex."

As if I'd want to have sex with a plant. I would like my first time NOT to be by some fern, or moss, or heaven forbid, Venus fly trap. But I guess my lab partner is into that kind of thing.

So I got to his floor, and I was wondering where the RA was. I mean, usually the RAs are everywhere, patrolling the halls and making sure people aren't cupping the dorm floor (cupping is basically the process of which you place TONS of cups neatly all over the floor, so that someone will eventually have to pick them up or walk on the ceiling or something), but the 3rd floor RA was nowhere to be found. It was quite an enigma.

I stood outside his room, pondering whether or not to knock. I mean, sure, I'm a humanitarian, wishing for the best for humans in general, but I also like to preserve my own life and sanity. And eyesight.

I weighed the pros and cons. Pro: Szayel would be forever indebted to me, for saving him. Or is that a con? I don't know if I could stand Szayel trailing me around all throughout the day, kissing the ground where I walked on and throwing himself dramatically in front of trains for me. Bruno Mars is stuck in my head again. And I don't even like that song.

Forget the pros and cons.

Science isn't always about things we want to do.

Sigh.

I can practically hear the vines thrashing around behind the door. If I don't come back alive, please tell, well, please tell Fluffles my cat that I love her very very much.

Here goes nothing.

Knock knock.

* * *

><p><em>Challenges accepted<em>

_-Skyskater_


	4. The Name and Function of Abscisic Acid

_Long car drives are long. And I can't hear very well out of my right ear, which is really bothering me. But it's nothing life threatening, so I guess I shouldn't be complaining. _

* * *

><p>Oh my. Well, hello there, q t pie. (I would put the pi symbol here, except I can't figure out how to insert the symbol into this document.)<p>

Oh my God. I'm really not dressed for this. Like at all. Oh, if only I had a mirror or something. Actually, maybe not. I don't think I'd want to see how hideous I look. It's like that one Death Cab for Cutie song, you know? My Mirror Speaks, or something like that. "When my mirror speaks, it never minces words..." Oh yeah. That mirror. It doesn't butter things up. Oh no.

He just stares at me. And I stare back at him, hoping to God I don't look seven different forms of retarded without my glasses on.

"So, we meet again."

No. I didn't really say that. But I probably should have, that's how thick the tension in the air was. Then again, can there really be any noticeable tension in the air with a tangle of vines waving around madly behind you?

What I really said was, "Hello."

"Hello." Wow. Civilized conversation, in which I don't actually sound like a complete imbecile. This is a first.

Pause.

"Could I come in?"

I quickly jump aside and let him pass, closing the door before the vines manage to continue their excursion into the rest of the world. Upon entering the dorm and laying eyes upon that unholy mess of shrubbery, Ulquiorra stops in his tracks. Looks at me. Looks back at the vines. Then at me. As though it's some kind of intense tennis rally. [By the way, on a very random side note, I was very, VERY disappointed with Nadal for losing the Wimbledon. I mean, the guy played FEDERER and WON some odd years back. But now? Losing to Djokovic? What the fuck?]

Anyway.

Ulquiorra just stares at the tangle of vines, occasionally seeing Szayel's or Gin's leg or arm flailing out from the mass at random intervals. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Pinches those thin lips together in thought, and holy crap. I've never seen someone pull off the frustrated look so well.

"That thing will...attack me if I try to get close to it, huh?" he asks me.

"Yeah...that's pretty much the way it is. Already took out a swivel chair the other day; I'm trying to keep it contained."

"I see. Well. There's not too much I can do about it now, so I guess I'll come back another time."

As he starts walking to the door, I finally grow some balls and say, "Hey, Ulquiorra."

He turns slightly. "What?"

"Um...wanna get coffee or something? I mean, it's not like Szayel's going anywhere, and the science lab is closed right now anyway, so unless you want to break in and get some abscisic acid or whatnot, there's not much we can do about it except pray that it finishes devouring Szayel and is so disgusted with his taste that it dies of its own accord."

He pauses, as though considering. "Sure...why not?"

I grin and follow him out the door. Once his back is fully turned, insert massive fist pump and pelvic thrust ALL THE WAY DOWN THE HALL.

HELLLLLLL YEAAAAAAAA.

Score one for Grimmjow.

* * *

><p><strong>ULQUIORRA INSERT<strong>

Well, well, well, who should answer the door except Mr. Dante's Inferno? Looking hassled and stressed and above all, tired, but judging from the mass of writhing vegetation behind him, I'm not surprised that he doesn't get much sleep at night.

We had a small, normal, relatively pleasant conversation. Well, as normal as a conversation can get when you're busy trying to judge how best to get your lab partner out of a sexually active mass of shrubbery. Correction: as normal as a conversation can get when you're busy trying to judge how best to convince said lab partner that it really is detrimental to his health to continually be sexually violated by a plant.

Szayel's odd like that.

So this Grimmjow fellow asked me if I wanted to go get some coffee. I accepted.

I think it was more of a desperate attempt to have an excuse to get out of the room than anything else.

I mean, if I was in his particular situation, I would make any excuse to get out of that room. I feel very awkward in places where people have had, are having, or are going to have public sex in. That's why I'm so nervous about using airplane lavatories. I mean, really. You don't know what kinds of things could be growing on the faucets or whatnot.

At any rate, this Grimmjow fellow is actually quite smart for an English major. Not that English majors aren't smart. I mean that he's knowledgeable about subjects other than English, thankfully. He mentioned abscisic acid to help stop the plant's growth. While great quantities of abscisic acid would probably be needed to contain the growth of that monstrosity, he had the right idea. I'm kind of more leaning toward the slash-and-burn approach though. Abscisic acid can take a while to kick in. Frankly, I'm surprised he knew its name at all, let alone its function.

Maybe Szayel's been rubbing off on him?

Good Lord. I hope not.

Looking at him walking next to me, he looks fairly normal. But you never really know, right? It's all about careful observation.

I may be saying this on some kind of emotional bias, but he's actually rather attractive.

* * *

><p><em>Challenges accepted. I'm bored. :D<em>

_-Skyskater_


	5. Cissus Antarctica and Ryan Reynolds

_Derp. So...I started playing League of Legends, when I REALLY should be working on college apps...then again, I also started watching The Office and visiting 9Gag religiously and resumed my FF activity...oh bloody hell, colleges need to apply to ME. NOT the other way around. _

_For one of the colleges I really don't want to get into, maybe I should just send them a printout of one of my stories. Lol. That would be funny. Except I'd be shunned for life from that particular college...meh. Decisions, decisions._

* * *

><p>In my opinion, September has got to be one of the best months. It's not too cold, it's not too hot, and, all in all, you can just have a rather nice sort of day without having to worry much about anything at all. Finals in December, you've got some time to mess around before all the shit starts crashing down around your head...<p>

Well, then again, as Ulquiorra has so kindly decided to impart upon me, September is also the optimal time for a particular species of plant to start growing at a massive rate.

Care to guess which plant species?

Wait for it...WAIT FOR IT...

If you didn't guess Cissus antarctica, well, I guess you're out $10,000. Or something like that. I'm not very good with numbers. Anyway, apparently Cissus antarctica is what Szayel is 'growing' in our dorm room. From a fancy website titled "AUSTRALIAN NATIVE VINE SPECIES," the description of Cissus antarctica is that the vine is too large and rampant for house gardens. In rainforest regeneration plots, they will scramble up small trees and smother them. Even so, they should be grown where possible as they are an important food source for various birds. They are best used for climbing over large, established rainforest trees or Camphor Laurels. (source: davidmcminn . com/ ngc /pages /nativevines . htm).

...

Well, let's see here.

The vine is too large and rampant for house gardens. Check.

They will scramble up small trees and smother them. Well, not small trees, but people and swivel chairs, definitely, so, check.

They should be grown where possible? Well, I care to disagree.

I believe this David McMinn person missed a few facts about said Cissus antarctica species.

Missed Fact 1: Greatly enjoys sexually harassing anyone and everyone who happens to come near it. Heaven forbid you provoke it by wearing some kind of sexy outfit.

Missed Fact 2: If you happen to leave any prized possessions near said plant, it can and will devour them. Well, not devour them, as said plant doesn't have a mouth, but if it had a mouth, it would devour it. Instead, what it does, is it snatches them and hides them in its slimy suffocating tangle of vines, never to be seen again.

Missed Fact 3: Cissus antarctica does not need to be watered on any regular basis whatsoever. This thing has the endurance of a cactus. I swear, if you didn't even have any water at all, it would still probably survive. I'm pretty sure it thrives on the lost hopes and dreams of young children.

At any rate, I still think September is one of the best months. I mean, in what other month could you sit outside sipping hot coffee with another person and not have it be awkward? All the other months are too hot or too cold or too windy, or some other weather phenomenon that I can't be bothered to explain at the present moment.

In conclusion: September is the best month.

And Ulquiorra is a rather gorgeous individual. Especially in September, what with his jaunty little black scarf and light black jacket and - oh wait, hold on, he's talking to me.

Ulquiorra: "So...how are you?"  
>Me: "Quite good. And yourself."<br>Ulquiorra: "Fine, thanks for asking."

Awkward pause, while I fiddle with the little sealed cups of cream. And then we both start to speak at the same time.

Ulquiorra: "I would think it would be rather awkward -"  
>Me: "Have you ever tried drinking -"<p>

Another awkward pause.

Ulquiorra: "Go ahead."  
>Me: "Well, it was stupid anyway, so you go first."<p>

He clears his throat and adjusts his jaunty little scarf a little. "I would think it would be rather awkward having Szayel for a roommate in general...What with the Cissus antarctica thriving rather well in your dorm room and your roommate in a constant state of nudity, I think it would be VERY awkward...Where's your RA anyway?"

"Oh. Well, Szayel's like that. He's always been like that. We went to the same high school, same graduating class and such. And our RA, well, an unfortunate incident happened to befall him the other day -"

"English majors." Insert sigh. "Always dancing around the main topic of discussion. Is he in the hospital, or what?"

He's ridiculously cute when he sighs and acts all exasperated. Like he's playing hard to get. Maybe he is, and just doesn't know it yet.

"Sorry about that. Force of nature. English degrees are all about gaining proficiency in BS-age. Anyway, our RA happens to be in the orgy of vegetation as well. He fell in a few days ago, and I'm not sure where he is. Haven't seen him since."

He nods. "I see. What a truly unfortunate incident."

"Indeed."

He smiles a little at that formality. "So, anyway, what were you going to ask me? Have I ever tried drinking what?"

He remembered. Holy crap. He. Remembered. I don't think I've ever met anyone who could surprise me so much with a simple question.

"Oh. Well, it's pretty stupid."

He laughs a little, taking a sip of his cinnamon dolce. "I hear a lot of stupid things from Szayel, so believe me, it won't be any worse than some of the things I've heard. Unless it's some kind of dirty joke, in which case I have no interest in hearing it."

"No, no. I was just going to ask you if, well -" I hold up one of the little sealed cream cups - "have you ever tried drinking these?"

He looks at me, raising an eyebrow. "Have I ever tried drinking them? Straight?"

"Yeah."

"...No..." He looks down at the cream cup, at me, then down at the cream cup again. "Are they good?"

I grin and hand one to him, opening mine. "They're excellent. You should try it. Like a shot, but...creamier."

He opens his, and holds it up. "Cheers?" he asks, with a little uncertain smile on his face.

I smile, and take mine too. "Cheers."

* * *

><p>Really, September is the best month. There's no better month in which to go have a hot coffee, insult mutual friends, and knock back cream shots with the person of your dreams.<p>

Which is pretty much what we did, while watching a glorious sunset.

Just...without the sunset.

Whatever. It was still pretty romantic. I'm sure Shakespeare would have agreed.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

"With great power comes great responsibility." -Peter Parker

I don't know why I just said that. Grimmjow reminds me of Peter Parker? No, that's stupid.

If he were a superhero of some kind, I think Grimmjow would be...oh, I don't know...The Green Lantern? And I don't mean the stereotypical all serious guy; I'm referring to the Ryan Reynolds version.

Rather serious, but also rather playful.

And rather cute.

Not that Ryan Reynolds is cute or anything. Not like I have a secretly hidden panel in my room that contains quite a lot of Ryan Reynolds-based paraphernalia.

I mean, it's not like I'm gay or anything.

...

Right?

* * *

><p><em>No, seriously, those little milks are DELICIOUS. <em>

_-Skyskater_


	6. Viva la Cedric

_Whoaaaa...I hadn't checked my traffic stats in a while (well, a year, pretty much, since I was "AFK" for the longest time ever) and I just realized I passed 400,000 words with this story. And I just checked my feed, and...wow, I've written/updated a scary amount of stories at early hours in the morning...no wonder I'm always tired..._

_On another note, go to my profile and answer the poll, or challenge me, or something. Thank you :D_

* * *

><p>Well, we finally managed to get rid of the Cissus antarctica infestation. Thank the good lord. And not a moment too soon, because, in all honesty, I was kind of really missing my desk chair. I mean, I'm going to have these knees for the rest of my life, and I'm sure they don't appreciate coming face to face with the hardwood floor for prolonged periods of time.<p>

And that is NOT a euphemism for ANYTHING. I swear.

At any rate, Halloween's coming up soon. Did you know that the correct spelling of Halloween is actually Hallowe'en? I don't know why, but I guess the apostrophe is just being a troll. Those apostrophes. You've got to watch out for them, because they could sabotage your whole paper. You know, what with the your, you're, their, there, they're thing.

Well, I suppose I'm getting a bit sidetracked. Where was I? Oh, yes. Halloween.

I'm really not sure what I'm going to be. I mean, there's not that many things you can do with blue hair. I suppose I could go with a wig, but those are very, very itchy and leave random bits of fluff all over your scalp. I guess I could dye my hair, except let's just say that I've had some bad experiences with that in the past. (If you are attempting to bleach your hair, be prepared for it to turn orange. Worst case scenario, it does, and you will be mocked mercilessly for a good few weeks.)

But really. What should I be?

And no. I swear I am NOT cosplaying. That kind of eliminates half of the Dragonball Z cast right there.

Also, I don't want to cross dress, so there goes Katy Perry.

I really don't know that many blue haired people/fictional characters. The only one I can think of right now is Ciel Phantomhive from Black Butler, but he's a little kid. And I'm kind of not a little kid.

Well, I know for sure what Szayel's going as. I asked him the other day.

Me: "Hey, Szayel, are you doing anything for Halloween?"  
>Szayel: "Uh, of course, why wouldn't I be?"<br>Me: "So what are you going as?"

He looks at me as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

Szayel: "I'm going as a Chippendale's dancer, tentacle porn edition. I saved some Cissus antarctica vines. Don't worry, they can't eat you. Gin told me I could only keep them if I killed them. Oh, woe is me, they were such beautiful children and I wanted them to have a wondrous life with me and I could find another Cissus antarctica vine and marry it so they could really be my biological children and I need to borrow cufflinks do you have any cufflinks and maybe a bow tie polka dotted would be nice -"

And he just kept going on and on, and at some point I tuned him out, because he was being melodramatic and I needed to focus on some 500 word essay I was writing for something.

And then he abruptly asked me: "Are you going out with Ulquiorra?"

Me: -whip head around- (no, i don't whip my hair back and forth like Will Smith's daughter) "No? Why do you ask?"  
>Szayel: "Oh, it just seems that you two are spending a lot of time together. It's a bit suspicious, because Ulquiorra's kind of all tight-lipped and such...HEY! Maybe he likes you!"<br>Me: "Maybe."

Well, I mean, maybe he does. That would be optimal.

That would be VERY optimal.

Me gusta.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

Alright. I suppose it's official. I suppose I do like this Grimmjow person, and by like, I mean that I hold feelings of attraction toward him. It's purely from a hormonal and evolutionary standpoint, though, and not because of the way he smiles or the way he laughs or his hard to pronounce name or his ridiculously messy blue hair or his hipster-ish kind of glasses or his electric blue eyes or because he's allergic to soy products. No. That's nonsense.

On another note, Halloween's coming up soon. I'm going as Edward Scissorhands.

Let me repeat that. I'm going as Edward Scissorhands, NOT Edward Cullen (and, just for your information, RPattz was way better as Cedric Diggory than he ever was as Edward Cullen. Viva la Cedric. Oh wait. You can't. You're dead. ... trolled.)

Szayel's going as a Chippendale's dancer. Tentacle porn edition.

God save us all.

* * *

><p><em>For those who don't know, me gusta = I like in Spanish. It's a very popular meme. There are a ridiculous number of blue haired characters in DBZ. Ciel may or may not have blue hair, I actually don't know. It's kind of a greenish-blue. <em>

_Also, Ulquiorra as Edward Scissorhands may morph into its own fic. Would you like to see Ulquiorra as Edward Scissorhands for most of a fic? Tell me in a review, or PM. Thank you!_

_-Skyskater_


	7. Waka Waka Eh Eh

_Hello, y. This chapter is extra long, just for you. _

_Also, I'm drawing a cover for this story, so I'll link you people later. Yes. That is all._

* * *

><p>Edward and Bella, sitting in a tree,<br>K-I-S-S-I-N-G.  
>First comes love, then comes marriage,<br>Suddenly, a rather tragic devastating miscarriage.

Bella's depressed, and Edward's quite angry.  
>He starts cheating with Rosalie.<br>Bella decides to sue his ass,  
>Lawyers and bills pour in en masse.<p>

Rosalie leaves him, and Edward's quite lonely,  
>In an empty house with the alimony pony.<br>He decides it's Jasper that he'd rather see.  
>Well, what d'you expect? It's D-I-V-O-R-C-E.<p>

Thank you, thank you. Do I hear encores? Let me take a bow.

At any rate, I am really sick of all this Twilight nonsense, especially all the girls who think Edward is practically the ideal guy that they would bend over and spread their legs for. I mean, no matter how you look at it, all the main Twilight ships have something wrong with them.

Edward x Bella = necrophilia. Really, Bella x any Cullen = necrophilia.  
>Bella x Jacob = bestiality, or however you spell that.<br>Edward x Jacob = necrophilia, AND bestiality.

Golden combo right there.

No, but really. I am sick of all these people going around swooning about how Edward is the perfect guy. I just mention this because I was walking around earlier today and there were at least four guys who had dyed their hair that perfect shade of tousled bronze, had applied copious amounts of white pancake powder, and who, under strict supervision of their girlfriend, had applied body glitter. All for Halloween, of course. But still.

...

Can you say whipped?

I can.

I didn't feel like spending what little money I have on cosplay materials, and I didn't feel like going out to purchase a wig, so, I did the next best thing. I made my own costume.

Let's just say that yellow spray paint and shitloads of cardboard and duct tape have made the best banana costume I have ever seen. I'll bet you've never seen a blue-haired guy dressed up as a banana, going around and making everyone's conversations awkward.

Awkward, why, you may ask? Whenever you're eating a banana, you literally cannot look someone else in the eyes. Especially if that someone else is a guy. I mean, I guess Szayel can, but Szayel can do practically anything, so...that's not really a surprise. Do anything, and anyone.

If I had to compare him to someone else, he'd be Grell from Kuroshitsuji. A psychotic, blatantly gay person of the male persuasion. Yeah, I think that pretty much sums it up rather well.

Speaking of Szayel, his costume's been a big hit. I was surprised too. Everyone came up to him and complimented him on his neat, crisp cuff links, and his polka dotted bow tie (both courtesy of me, and please don't ask why I have a polka dotted bow tie, all I can say is that I got plastered one night and decided to hold a fashion show). I noticed that no one really came within two feet of him, because they were unsure whether or not the tentacles were still alive and rearing to rape. Except Gin. Gin was constantly creeping in Szayel's shadow, fondly stroking the tentacles with a smirky leer on his face. If that made any sense. I suppose by "smirky leer," you should think of a combination of a Draco, Lucius, and Voldemort smirk. Waka waka eh eh this one's for Azkaban!

Okay, sorry. I'm just pretty excited because Ulquiorra's agreed to go see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, P. 2 with me over the weekend. And, being the English major that I am, I have seen all the Harry Potter movies and read all the books. Unfortunately, being the English major that I am, I also have read all the Twilight installments. Never again. I'd rather be skinned alive and then dropped into a vat of boiling oil to be roasted into finger food.

Although the book covers might look really cool sewn together and turned into a suit or dress. Or if some suit or dress design were inspired by the book covers. I really do think the combination of red, white, and black looks really good.

At any rate, I saw Ulquiorra earlier today, off in the distance. That guy is smokin'. He pulls off Edward Scissorhands so well. Well, okay. The hair is kind of off, but there's only so much you can do with a limited supply of gel and blow-drying electricity. His hair is more of an Edward Scissorhands meets Sweeney Todd hairstyle. Whatever. I'm not judging.

I mean, if Hollywood hadn't had Johnny Depp to play the role for them, Ulquiorra could have done it. With just a little white pancake powder, and some nicely applied shadings, he can pull off the gaunt, pale look really, really well. Ridiculously well, even. It makes me want to turn into Gin and stalk him in his shadow, stroking his shoulder when he's not looking. Except...Gin is really creepy, and I don't think me in my banana suit would fit in Ulquiorra's shadow, given that I'm taller than him and all.

Anyway.

Whether he's Edward Scissorhands, looking for love and kindness, or whether he's Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street, or whether he's simply just Ulquiorra, it's all cool. Yeah, I suppose I do like him a lot.

He's the only person in this world that could potentially make Edward Cullen look good.

Gag.

Okay, okay, maybe I don't like him THAT much to extol his virtues. But I do like him a lot.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

I'm really glad that I'm in college, and that little children don't often come by college dorms in the hopes of scoring candy. More like their parents won't let them, because they're afraid little Junior will score herpes, syphilis, and AIDS all in one trip.

And, when you see someone like Szayel, and the third floor RA, who's recently been freed from the confines of the Cissus antarctica vines, well, yes. I do suppose that is a valid fear.

Everybody really seems to like Szayel's costume. I personally don't. But I lied to him. I told him that he looked great in it, and that he should definitely go to Las Vegas and audition for a primary spot in a Chippendale's show. He seemed to really be thinking about it, so I have my fingers crossed.

Or my shiny plastic and foil blade fingers, rather. Let me just tell you, making this costume took a long time. Longer than I expected. Nothing went right in its creation.

First of all, the hair was a mess. It doesn't even really look like Edward Scissorhands. It kind of just flops over in the front. The makeup was terrible. Now I understand why women have to take such a long time to get ready in the mornings. Just trying to get the shading for the hollow cheeks was torture, and then I had to apply the rest of the pancake powder and what not. I feel so bad for KISS members.

The outfit was easy enough, because, honestly, it's just a white dress shirt and suspenders and some fancy knickknacks. And for the scissor-hands, plastic and foil are my best friends. I'm rather glad that this particular kind of plastic isn't the kind of polymer that can reverse cross-link. Really glad, otherwise my hands would be covered with a mess of oozing Tupperware.

Grimmjow was a banana.

Let me repeat that.

He was a banana.

A banana.

A fruit.

Actually, a banana's not a fruit. It's actually an herb that can only be propagated by the hand of man.

This had better not be some kind of sexual innuendo or something, because honestly, I would NOT help him propagate.

...

Well, fine. Maybe I would. Purely from a he-makes-an-excellent-contribution-to-the-gene-pool standpoint.

...

Okay. Because he's attractive, and a nice person.

...

Okay, fine. I like him.

There.

I said it.

Are we done?

Can I go now?

I kind of need to save Fluffles from imminent rape by tentacle.

* * *

><p><em>I'm starting driving lessons tomorrow...this should be interesting.<em>

_Take the poll in my profile, or send me a challenge! Thank you :]_

_-Skyskater_


	8. Like Snape Loved Lily

_This chapter was written while listening to North by North - Faded Paper Figures. A really good song, it is. _

* * *

><p>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows P.2 was excellent. Although there were many parts that were supposed to be serious that I found quite funny. Like the part where Voldemort bitch slaps Harry (because, I mean, wands are not that efficient at close range, obviously). Also, the part where they destroyed that one Horcrux and Voldemort made this "EAEHWEH" sound. I thought that was quite funny, it wasn't even a scream or anything like you would expect from someone who just had part of their soul destroyed.<p>

But it wasn't even the movie that was the best part of it.

The best part of it was the part where I looked over during the movie (it was right after the whole Snape and Lily debacle) and he was there, with his lips set tight, his lovely emerald eyes glistening, trying not to cry. And so I went for it. Reached over and held him, and he didn't shove me off like he might have at any other random time. Not that I'm saying he would have done that at any other random time; he just seems like the kind of person who would.

I mean, at least I thought he was trying not to cry. He might just have had something in his eye. Or something. I'm trying not to get my hopes up here, since the rest of the theater were being pretty unemotional dicks. Or at least being really, really quiet criers. I'm kind of going for the unemotional dicks, though.

At any rate, it was pretty good, that hug thing. I was kind of aiming for a kiss, but I guess I'm getting ahead of myself here.

After the movie, we went and had dinner at a nice little Italian place, and I was going to pay for both of us, but I suppose he had some insecurities about that, because he insisted we go Dutch. So I just went along with it. Like you'd see me putting up a fight in a public area.

But it's kind of confusing...I mean, are we together, or aren't we? I suppose we aren't, since I never asked officially, but at the same time, I really don't know what to call this kind of relationship. Platonic? Nonexistent? I wish Ulquiorra would stop sending these conflicting messages. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm an English major; I see conflicting messages all the time.

"She loved me. She loved me not."

Ta-fucking-da. Here. Give me some super glue and rose petals, and I'll glue some more petals on that flower for you.

Am I angry about it? I don't think I am, but I'm a little disappointed, you could say?

Ugh. I really shouldn't be acting this way. I'm just lucky he didn't jump up and accuse me of rape right in the middle of the very packed theater.

Another point for Grimmjow? Maybe? No?

Okay, fine, I'll go with a stalemate this time, but next time I'll checkmate.

* * *

><p>On another note, Szayel bought an airline ticket to Las Vegas the other day. I asked him what he was intending to do there, if he was going to get smashed or if he was going to pick up hot guys, or gamble his research grant away, or whatever blatantly gay guys can do in Vegas, but the answer was no to all of those things. He said he was going to audition for a Chippendale's show.<p>

I just stared at him. He smiled brightly and said that Ulquiorra said that he really had a chance.

It took all I had to keep from bursting out in hysterical laughter, and I agreed.

"Yes, Szayel, I'd say the odds are pretty good that they'll accept you for a show. And if they don't, well, looks like Vegas is missing out on a really good dancer."

What I was not so happy about was the fact that he had set up a stripper pole right in the middle of our dorm room, and was using the stripper pole as a makeshift trellis for the Cissus antarctica vines which he was not supposed to have, and which I guess Gin conveniently missed. Key word being conveniently. All I can hope is that Gin doesn't come in here at random points throughout the night to have mad passionate sex with the vines. Please sweet mother of God no. I know I haven't been a very good Catholic, but sweet Jesus, please no, please no, please no.

Yeah, that's another thing I haven't really mentioned, the fact that I'm Catholic. I'm not really religious, you know, the whole thing about homosexuality being a terrible, terrible sin and all that. If I really was a devout Catholic, there would be one more cross decorating the walls of our dorm room, the count of which is currently zero. And...I'd be trying to convert Szayel every minute of every day, and I don't see myself doing that. I mean, the guy makes multilayered Jello salads; you really expect me to convert someone like that? That's a pointless endeavor.

Ulquiorra's probably not religious, him being a man of science and all that, but I really wouldn't know. Hell, I'm not even really that religious, but let me just tell you, religious parables are great points of argument to use in a defend-challenge-qualify essay, or in analyzing books. You can always relate something to either A) Helen Keller, B) Anna Karenina, or C) Jesus and the twelve disciples. Don't believe me? On your next SAT, try it out.

I know I'm rambling, but before I go and douse my eyes in bleach as a precaution to supervising Szayel pole-dance, I just want to say that Anna Karenina is one of the longest, most boring books ever written. I read it twice and I still don't know the plot. Cheating woman has baby, then steps in front of train. Cheating woman's husband cries violently. Me: ...what?

Bleh. I never really understood those Russian novels.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

Grimmjow took me to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, P.2 the other day. It was fun. It really was.

Well, I'm kind of embarrassed because he hugged me during the movie, and I couldn't bring myself to push him off, even though he was way too far into my comfort zone, and because the last time I got hugged was three months ago, by my mother, when I left home from summer break to come back to university. Actually, I don't think I've really been hugged by anyone I'm not related to.

Never mind. I take that back. Szayel's hugged me on multiple occasions, but I think he was just humping my leg. Or attempting to hump my leg. I really don't know; I tried to ignore it as best as I could. Speaking of Szayel, he told me he purchased an airline ticket to Las Vegas. I'm extremely happy. Positively ecstatic.

Anyway, he hugged me, and I didn't know what to do. So I just sat there and he hugged me. And...okay, fine, it was nice. I liked it. Alright? I liked it.

A lot.

Although I thought I would start hyperventilating, or have an anxiety attack or something, because my heart was beating so fast on account of this display of affection. And then I started worrying about what would happen if that did actually happen, because we didn't have a paper bag or anything, and it would be hard to get out of the theater because it was so crowded.

And just for the record, I did not cry when Snape was hugging Lily. I didn't.

Really.

I didn't.

Maybe just a little.

To love a person like Snape loved Lily...I wonder what that's like.


	9. Freudian Slips

_Lol I check my email today and I have a bunch of PMs from authors I've never heard of...(how do all you people find me, seriously? Teach me the ways of your professional stalker-isms or whatnot. They might be useful in the near future.)_

_This chapter was written to Getting Into You - Relient K._

* * *

><p>Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and as of right now, I really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I guess I could go home and eat a half-frozen turkey dinner with my parents. I could go to Szayel's house, as he was so gracious to offer, and eat a half-alive (oh, scratch that; mostly-dead-and-partially-resurrected) turkey dinner, with homemade cranberry jelly to top it all off. Heck, even Gin invited me to go over to his house and have Thanksgiving dinner, but for health issues, I graciously declined.<p>

Or...I could go to Ulquiorra's house, and eat a very normal dinner with his parents, who he made sure to assure me were very normal. Or I could bring Ulquiorra over. But I'm not really sure he'd be impressed by a half-frozen turkey with the innards still inside, or cranberry jelly directly from a can, or whole potatoes, because my mother lost the masher amidst a slew of dishes.

He invited me. I'm just going to make this clear right now because I definitely did not press him to invite me or anything like that. That would be like rape or something. Did you know in Pennsylvania, forcefully inserting something into someone's belly button against their will for 30 or more seconds can be constituted as rape? Who knew that Pennsylvanians were so odd and prudish like that. It must have something to do with that Quaker influence way back in the 1600s or whatever.

At any rate, I really don't know what I should do. What do you think? Oh, even better. Being an English major, I should probably write a persuasive paper or short essay about the pros and cons of each option. But since I wouldn't want to bore you with an essay or some scholarly material like that, I'll just make the bare outline of one.

My house by myself. Pros: Free food, electricity, and other amenities such as the washer and dryer and dishwasher. Cons: Free, possibly unwanted love from Mama Jeagerjacques (the whole deal, here, and by the whole deal, I mean cheek pinching, "Oh my little Grimmy's grown up so big and smart!", and so on and so forth. Also, forcing me to hold her hand while crossing the street, and hyperventilating when she can't find me in the supermarket, even though I'm one aisle over. You get the idea.) Pros: Papa Jeagerjacques will buy booze and look the other way if I were to happen to rent a hooker (not like I would, who knows what they have growing on their vital regions...). When Mama Jeagerjacques angrily inquires "what the hell that woman/man/transvestite/THING was doing in my little Grimmy's bed?", Papa Jeagerjacques will just grunt and return to his newspaper. Cons: see previous Pros.

Szayel's house: No explanation required. Just...just no. And if I do end up going, I swear to God if I make it out alive, I'll be a good Catholic for the rest of my life. I swear I will.

Gin's house: See Szayel's house. Note: Chances of being raped at either of these places are very, very high. Very. High. Do not underestimate the strength of tentacles and/or a hormonally raging RA. Tentacles: Haven't you ever seen Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone? That part where they're trapped in the vines and Hermione's like, "No, Ron, stop being a bitch, just calm down!" and Harry's all, "LOL yeh." Hormonally raging RA: The part about calling the hospital if you have an erection lasting more than 4 hours is actually a valid emergency call. All that blood draining to that one particular area can cause a lack of judgment due to some equilibrium unbalance in the person's Eustachian canals or whatever. I really don't know; I'm not a science-y person.

My house with Ulquiorra. Pros: See pros of "My house by myself." Cons: Mama Jeagerjacques will coo over Ulquiorra and also pinch his cheeks and comment on how pale looking he is and how peaky he looks and how he really ought to eat more. Another pro: Papa Jeagerjacques will look over, scan Ulquiorra noncommittally, and grunt in approval before turning back to the Sports section of the newspaper. Approval effectively won by both parents. Con: Ulquiorra might be mortally terrified of Mama Jeagerjacques; he doesn't really strike me as the touchy-feely type. Pros: Spend time with Ulquiorra. Lots of time with Ulquiorra. Cons: He might get sick from the odd stuff we call food. Cue frozen turkey here. Pros: Playing doctor? ;) Cons: Probably won't get that lucky. Unless I can liquor him up. But that would be rape. Right? And this isn't a rape story.

Ulquiorra's house: Pros: Spend time with Ulquiorra. He is in his comfort zone. So that's a good thing. Cons: I have no idea how his parents will respond to me, or how I'll respond to them. I don't know what I'm getting myself into here. Pros: They probably have normal food.

I don't know. What should I do?

I'm so confused.

Is there any hand manual for what to do when bringing your boyfriend home for the holidays?

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

"Do you know what you are getting yourself into?  
>I'm getting into you, because you got to me...<br>In a way words can't describe.  
>I'm getting into you because I've got to be.<br>You're essential to survive...  
>I'm gonna love you with my life."<p>

I really like Relient K. Even though they're a Christian band, and I'm not religious. But if you take away the religious elements (if you're blatantly opposed to that kind of thing), their songs are amazingly good.

Okay. Anyway.

No, I didn't quote that passage because it means anything to me, and it's definitely not referencing anything. Or anyone. I just thought you heathens should be exposed to the beauty that is Relient K before you die. Or something deep like that.

At any rate, I invited Grimmjow over to my house for Thanksgiving, right before he said he had been planning to ask me the same thing. So now I feel like he's obligated to come over. And honestly, that's a terrifying prospect.

In retrospect, I should have asked him to finish his question first. Then I could not ask my question, and then I could oblige to go meet his parents, instead of the other way around.

All I can say is that I really, really hope that the python's glass cage is very stable, and that the chinchilla's cage is chew-proof. Both things that were not true the last time I went home.

That's just the last thing I'd need; to explain to a police officer that my boyfriend was eaten by a hormonally challenged, raging, rabbit-like thing, which was then promptly eaten by the six-foot python (whose name is Metus, which means Latin for fear; the snake is aptly named.). And in case you're wondering, no, chinchillas aren't carnivores. Not normally. This one is.

Oh. Wait.

Did I say boyfriend?

I didn't mean to say that.

I meant to say that it would be bad to explain to a police officer that my friend who happens to be a boy got eaten by raging animals. Of course that's what I meant.

It was definitely not a Freudian slip. I swear.

Psychology is overrated, anyway.


	10. Check Your Corners

_I had a good chunk of this chapter already written, and then FF logs me out...ah I wish you had an autosave feature...At any rate, a little drama for you all, since romcoms tend to have those moments of epic drama..._

_This chapter was written to The Best Deceptions and Vindicated (both by Dashboard Confessional)_

* * *

><p>Ulquiorra's parents are shockingly normal, exactly like he said they were. Mrs. Schiffer is the spitting image of her son (or is it the other way around?), except in a more feminine version. You know, longer hair and classy pearl necklaces and stuff. At any rate, I do find her quite a nice person. She's rather polite and doesn't force food down your throat when you don't want it (like Mama Jeagerjacques would); she inquires politely about your hobbies and your courses without being incredibly nosy (like Mama Jeagerjacques would; leave her alone in a room with you long enough, she'll be asking after your great-grandfather and the number of prostitutes he had back in his day); she keeps her emotions under check and always appears calm and reserved, with a slight smile hanging around the corners of her eyes (not like Mama Jeagerjacques, who thinks accidental fireworks in the neighborhood is a sure sign that D-Day is upon us yet again). Mrs. Schiffer is some kind of scientist. Botany, I think it was. Something to do with plants. I can see where Ulquiorra gets his scientific nature.<p>

Mr. Schiffer is your typical businessman. Hair slicked back, clean shaven, always in formal wear, Armani suits with crisp lapels and sharp shoulders. Well, not Armani suits in the house, but a nice dress shirt and crisp slacks, but I mean, if he was at work, he would be wearing that kind of thing. He's a very quiet man, and he and Ulquiorra don't talk much, but the two of them are pretty stoic individuals. Or at least, that's my opinion. I grew up in a pretty loud household.

The house itself is incredibly nice. Not too rich-looking, but still quite a classy home. It's very different from mine. It has that whole minimalist feel going for it, without being too minimalist...if that made any sense. Basically, think of sleek silver appliances and nice furniture in cozy rooms painted in shades of autumn instead of shades of gray.

That's how my life kind of is right now. Shades of gray, I mean. I'm doing fairly well in school and my life is pretty okay, all things considering, but it's just this thing with Ulquiorra. Mixed signals and all that.

Here. Let me get a rose from the backyard. I guess Mrs. Schiffer likes them a lot; there's quite a few bushes out here. I think Decision Rose will help me decide.

"Together. Not together. Together..." and so on and so forth. Although I'm prone to cheating when it comes to things like that, and I'm not sure Mrs. Schiffer would be terribly pleased to go outside to prune her rosebushes and find petals all over the lawn.

Oh. Wait a moment. I should probably go back inside. I hear someone shouting, and if there just so happens to be a fire, thank God I'm professionally trained in stopping, dropping, and rolling. That was a terrible joke. If it was even a joke. Good God, I don't know what's wrong with me today. I guess I'm just stressed about this whole Ulquiorra thing.

And at any rate, it looks like it's going to rain.

* * *

><p>There was no fire. Not even smoke. I was a bit disappointed, because I thought it could spice things up with a little heat, but I guess I'm asking for too much. English majors tend to do that. English majors also tend to hide behind corners to eavesdrop on other people's conversations. This is a reminder, kids: whenever you want to complain and have a whole sermon about all the things wrong with someone, check your corners and make sure they're not hiding behind them within earshot before you start your rant.<p>

Mr. Schiffer: "Ulquiorra, why didn't you tell us you had a boyfriend? Or that you were gay, for that matter?"  
>Ulquiorra: "Mum knew...I've tried to tell you before, but apparently I'm not as important as the stock market for you to pay attention about 'trivial' things like your son's orientation."<br>Mr. Schiffer: "I don't approve of him. He's messy-looking, and scruffy, and he's an English major? English? What does he even plan to do with that kind of degree? Because teaching's pretty much the only option, and let me tell you right now, teachers aren't going to be doing very well in the next few decades."

Ulquiorra: "Dad, it doesn't matter what he's going to be, okay? So what if he's an English major? At least we wouldn't be having arguments over how many neutrons are in the most common isotope of carbon, like I'd be having with some other people." Well, at least he's right there; I couldn't give a shit about how many neutrons are in the most common isotope of carbon.

Mr. Schiffer: "Furthermore, you didn't even tell us you were going to be bringing him home. Now you know your mother and I have a very strict policy about you doing things like this -"  
>Ulquiorra: "Once again, Dad, Mum knew, alright? You were probably busy with merging branches or something like that. And don't bring Mum into this, it's not her fight to have."<p>

Mr. Schiffer: "I'm incredibly disappointed in you. I hope you know that. Not only do you fail to communicate properly with me, you're also making bad decisions. You don't know anything about him, or his family or background. For all you know, he could be a serial rapist or a murderer. And at any rate, he's a terrible influence on you. When you left for school this year, you didn't have those piercings. What next, are you gonna be getting tattoos and smoking opium and...and becoming some kind of prostitute? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Silence. [DAYUMMM...THAT MAN IS FIERCE...looks like I'm wrong about that quiet man stereotype...]

Ulquiorra: "Dad, I'm going out. Tell Mum I'll be home late."  
>Mr. Schiffer: "Don't you dare turn your back on me, young man -"<p>

And then rapid footsteps towards my 'hiding' location, and as Ulquiorra steps through the doorway, he sees me. And damn, I thought I had a pretty good hiding place...right up there with Osama Bin Laden's and Anne Frank's...well, except they're both dead...and given the way Mr. Schiffer was talking about me, I could very well be the next in line to join the Hide 'n Seek Dead World Champions' Hall of Fame. Or something like that.

While I'm busy trying to think of some kind of response (I get tongue tied pretty frequently), Ulquiorra grabs my arm and says, "Come on; we're going out."

And out we go.

Only three more days at his house...or his car...I've adapted quite well to living the mobile lifestyle...

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

I don't know what the hell is wrong with my dad, if you'll pardon my language.

I seriously don't. So what if I brought Grimmjow home? My mother definitely said it was okay over the phone, and it's not like Dad is going to be doing any of the cooking or cleaning or housework or anything.

No.

What's going to happen is he's going to sit down, glare at Grimmjow all throughout every meal, get all snappy with everyone else while still trying to maintain a composed profile, and then eventually spontaneously implode halfway through the tiramisu. You'd think he was some kind of gamer whose 50 kill streak got broken in Call of Duty, or something like that.

I mean, mother of God.

Piercings? I had them before I even met Grimmjow, and I think they're quite nice. Silver flair.  
>Tattoos? I've thought about it, but what does it matter?<br>Smoking opium? I don't think so; I wouldn't even begin to know where to get opium, or pipes, or the money to get opium and pipes.  
>Prostitution? What the hell was that accusation? That was a bit uncalled for, don't you think?<p>

Like I'd even have money to spend on lingerie anyway.

What an idiot.

* * *

><p><em>Dramatic chapter...bleh, I don't even know how it came out, so tell me what you think.<em>

_-Skyskater_


	11. No Love Like Apathy

_This chapter was written to I'm Ready, I Am - The Format._

_Here, little miss piplup, this chapter is dedicated to you._

* * *

><p>He drove like a madman. Honestly, I've never seen someone peel out of a cul-de-sac so damn fast, practically burning rubber on the asphalt. It was terrifying, and I thought for a moment that I was going to die.<p>

Psychic horror, is what it's called. Those minutes before death when you just know that the Grim Reaper [or dementors, if you're really into that kind of stuff] is coming to steal your soul away, and you know you can't do jack about it. That's what those few moments in the car with Ulquiorra were like. My God, he took a turn at 30 miles an hour! Sweet Jesus Lord, I really thought we were going to tip over, and I tried to lean to the other side to keep us balanced. As if my meager physics knowledge would have helped any. Torque, and all that, would have finished us off, or something.

I squeezed my eyes shut sometime after the third ran red light (well, in all honesty, I guess if I was in his situation, I would have done that too; I mean, the sensors were malfunctioning or something, and there were no other cars in the intersection or approaching said intersection), and I only opened them again after we had stopped.

Hell if I knew where we were.

Big city. Lots of buildings. People on the sidewalk, milling around under umbrellas. Ulquiorra digging for quarters to feed the meter. I admired his parallel parking skills. Hey, it's pretty tough trying to parallel park in a space that's only inches big enough for your car and room to maneuver out of said space. Takes a lot of talent. I was definitely impressed. I guess his good sense of measurement comes from his science-y background and whatnot.

We stepped into the rain. He was wearing this black dress shirt number with dark jeans, and with that hair, my God...No one should be allowed to look that gorgeous. Ever. Especially not when they're getting soaked to the bone and definitely should look more like a wet cat than a runway model.

I just kind of tagged along with him, because he seemed to be moving rather purposefully, shoving through all those people with their umbrellas and whatnot. Can I stand under your umbrella? Ella, ella, ella, eh eh eh? Ulquiorra? Hell no. Just push right on through. Umbrellas are for the weak. And saying 'excuse me, pardon me' is for the weak, too.

At some point, when my gray and blue argyle sweater was positively drenched, he made a sharp right into an alley.

Me: "This is a dead end."  
>Him: "Yes, Grimmjow, I can see that."<br>Me: "It's raining."

Now that I've managed to sound like a complete imbecile...

I watched as he exhaled, tiny puff puffs of mist. Watched as he turned his face up to the sky -

"Are you crying?"

"...I'm definitely not."

I hugged him. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? Stand there awkwardly like a brick wall, not knowing what to do with any part of my body? My God, talk about awkward situations...

We hugged for so long that I thought maybe he had fallen asleep, or that someone would look into the alley and immediately accuse me of rape, on account of how sad he was and all that, and I definitely would not want to be accused of rape. Because that would ruin the relationship. And somehow, I don't see myself reacting well to an arrest.

During the interview, I'd probably say something meme-related to the interrogator, something like, "Hey, bro, calm your tits or something." And that would not go over well.

At some point, after we were both thoroughly soaked, he mumbled something about going for coffee and karaoke.

Karaoke?

Makes us sound like a couple of Japanese tourists, but it's fine. Better to comply with a crying person's demands than spurning their requests entirely.

* * *

><p>The karaoke bar next door frowned upon our standing there, looking hopeless and dripping all over their freshly mopped hallway. So sue us. I personally couldn't care less, and Ulquiorra's death look could send Voldemort to a premature grave.<p>

They put us in a tiled room [of course], and set down our coffees rather hard on the table [of course]. Ulquiorra calmly took a sip of coffee, black, and thumbed through the black book of songs.

While I was still locked in an epic war with the stubborn flap of a coffee creamer, he started.

"Strike up the band  
>Deprive my sleep<br>'Cause there's no love like apathy  
>The bell that tolls rings loud enough<br>That it should have woke us up..."

Two lumps of sugar later...

"I'm trying to find truth  
>in words, in rhymes, in notes<br>in all the things I wish I'd wrote  
>cause I feel like I've been losing you<br>each night it ends too soon  
>you don't hold me like you used to<br>and your eyes look like they've seen too much 'cause  
>it's always some excuse<br>too tired, too obtuse  
>you look so far, removed<br>this time I fear I'm losing you for good..."

He finished the song. He handed the microphone to me.

I put it on the table, next to my forgotten coffee.

Turned to him. Watched him take another sip of black coffee.

"Hey, Ulquiorra."  
>"Hm?"<p>

And then I kissed him. Even though I felt like my heart was going to beat its way out of my rib cage.

"You could never lose me. You're too methodical for that."

And then he smiled. And kissed me back.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

Who knew the workers at Sunshine Karaoke were so damn rude? I mean, honestly, what the hell. I paid for coffee and a room. I definitely did not pay to have you slam my coffee down on the table and spill it all over the mahogany. Come on. Think of the exploited workers in Jamaica who had to work hard to harvest those coffee beans or whatever.

That's me, all right. Always looking out for my fellow man. Ulquiorra Schiffer, the humanitarian.

At any rate. The Format is a pretty good band. I sang "I'm Ready, I Am" by them.

Grimmjow didn't sing. Which sucks, I was looking forward to hearing him sing.

He kissed me. Can you believe it? He kissed me.

I definitely was not ready for that.

And then he pulled back and told me some shit about me being methodical that I think was supposed to be a compliment, but I couldn't hear him clearly over the sound of my heart palpitating in my eardrums. For a moment, I thought I was having an arrhythmia. Or a cranial hemorrhage.

And then we kissed again.

Just for the record, I didn't start it. Or encourage it.

I just simply complied.

Compliance. That's all it was.

For the record, I definitely don't cry.

Definitely not.

And damn...I think this shirt is going to shrink.


	12. Weeds and Dandelions

_This story was written while I was watching The Dark Knight, so I apologize in advance for sloppy writing. _

* * *

><p>The rest of Thanksgiving break passed rather uneventfully, in my opinion. Well, if you don't count the time when I somehow managed to blow up the baked potatoes in the oven and suffered severe second-degree burns on my left hand and arm when I tried to foolishly clean it up with a rag, which promptly burst into flames because I hadn't waited for the appliance to cool down. Mr. Schiffer fled for the weekend. For all his talk, that man is whipped. I wouldn't be surprised if he spent the last three days of Thanksgiving break living out of his car, or his glass-walled office, eating fast food and packets of crisps from the vending machine.<p>

Returning to college was definitely something of a shock.

A real shock.

For one thing, I had a very disconsolate roommate to comfort. Szayel's week-long trip to Vegas clearly did not go as he had planned. In short, he came back smelling of cinnamon sugar and cheap Black Magnolia Nordstrom-brand perfume, and not like expensive scent or the money he had hoped to earn as a Chippendale's dancer. He definitely didn't return any richer, or any less single. And to top it all off, he didn't even come back with my bow tie and/or cuffs intact. I was pretty angry about that, honestly, because I was going to use those for some other occasion, like...my wedding, or something. Although it's doubtful; the polka-dotted bow tie was my last resort.

At any rate, with the way Szayel was going on, you'd think he was auditioning for a role in a demented Titanic remake, or something like that.

For another, Gin, the RA, appeared to have done quite well over Thanksgiving break, if the nice new Armani suits and Italian loafers were anything to go by. This is just a rumor, but I heard that he got a mistletoe tattooed on his stomach, just in time for Christmas. You can all imagine what he intended to do with that. Another rumor: He took up gardening, and apparently he started a nice little vegetable patch behind the dorms. Heaven help all of us.

On another note, we started reading The Grapes of Wrath. Well, rereading, more like, since I already read this junior year of high school. Honestly, I really hate Steinbeck. Ten pages of nothing but pure description about how dusty it all was, and how angry all the people were, and how the prices were so high, even though loaves of bread only cost 10 cents apiece, or something like that.

Then, I guess, this was during the Great Depression, so I suppose it's reasonable.

No, not really. I mean, 10 cents for a loaf of bread is practically highway robbery.

I wish Thanksgiving break wasn't only a week long. I wish we had two weeks like we did when we were younger. That would definitely have been excellent. Then Mrs. Schiffer would have been able to feed me delicious food for fourteen days instead of just seven. That makes me sound greedy, doesn't it? Always one for free food, I am.

At any rate, I have to go write a paper. No, really I do. I'm not making some kind of excuse to spend time with Ulquiorra. Because what kind of student would I be, then? Really, now. That idea is ludicrous. Get it out of your head right now.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

Coming back to school after Thanksgiving break was rather interesting, especially after the whole blow-out with Dad and everything. I think Mom said a few harsh words to him, and he relented, as he always does. He's been that way ever since Mom had that stroke two years ago. He doesn't want to upset her or anything; her blood pressure's through the roof as it is. Mom says he's always been that way; strong on the surface and weak inside, like...I don't know, some kind of caramel toffee or whatever. I really don't know.

Anyway, whatever she said to him was enough for him to leave us alone for the rest of the week. He went to live in his car or his office or something. Not like I minded.

Did I tell you? Szayel's got a whole new goal in life, now, especially after Vegas rejected him as a Chippendale's dancer, or a showgirl, which was apparently his second option. Didn't have the body for it, I guess. Midway through pulling out a pig's lower intestines, he happened to inform me that he now wanted to be an Abercrombie model. Muttering something about how he would love a job where he got to see other people half naked, or something like that. I always knew he was a lecherous fool. I didn't have the heart to inform him that I thought it wouldn't work out; Abercrombie has high standards, too...

Grimmjow's dorms' RA started walking around in really expensive suits. And he's taken up gardening. Although upon closer inspection, it looks like he's only managed to grow weeds and dandelions. I don't know what the suits mean. Really, I don't.

Anyway, Grimmjow said he needed help on a Grapes of Wrath paper, so I'll be off to help him with said paper.

And I think he really does need help.

He sounded pretty desperate on the phone...

Oh, excuse me, did I say desperate?

I meant, he sounded clueless. Really clueless.

And since I plan to be a doctor, I might as well start exercising the Hippocratic Oath now. Help all people in need, or some stuff like that. I don't know.

But I can't very well let a bumbling idiot English major fail a paper, can I?


	13. Musculature

_So there's an Inception app, which takes sounds from your environment and augments them into a soundtrack based off the movie soundtrack...GOD IT'S AWESOME DOWNLOAD IT RIGHT NOW WHILE IT'S FREE..._

* * *

><p>Okay, I'm not supposed to be telling you people this, but just for the record, a complex ion is an ion that contains a metal cation bound to one or more small molecules or ions (for example, NH3, CN- or OH-).<p>

The reason I wasn't supposed to tell you that is because I'm in my chemistry final right now, and I need you good kind people to remember the above information, so you can remind me of it later. I'm kind of an absentminded person, you know? Lots of English majors are, unless you're talking about the usage of simile and metaphor and colloquialism in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, in which case, we can go on for ages. I personally found that book hideously boring, but to each his own.

I really wish Ulquiorra was in my class so he could help me with my final. Telepathically, of course. I've been practicing my magic lately, and his Occlumency isn't exactly up to par, as far as I can tell, so I could just simply break into his mind and get all the information straight from there. 100% foolproof.

Except, of course, he's not in my class. He's somewhere else, probably taking some disgusting Anatomy final, in which he has to dissect three pigs, one fetal sheep, and a goat in an hour. All while labeling their innards and dousing them in preservative liquid, so that the professor can stuff the organs back inside the skin and sew the poor animal up again for the next student's practical final.

I can't even think about that anymore.

At any rate, if I had my way, I wouldn't be taking chemistry, just simply because I'm terrible at pouring precise amounts of colored liquid into vials and then putting an exact number of grams into said colored liquid to watch a little puff of smoke go up into the atmosphere to probably ruin the ozone even more than it already is. But I have to take it, because of some stupid requirements. Who writes those, anyway? Who would be so cruel as to want to torture English majors with chemistry?

My God...whoever invented this kind of school system must be from the Spanish Inquisition or whatever...all axes and scimitars and whatnot...I don't know what they did in the Spanish Inquisition, but from some rumors, I've heard it was pretty brutal stuff...so...you know.

You might be wondering how the hell I'm telling you this, but let's just say that I'm freezing. I left my sweater in the exam room, because I honestly didn't think that the bathroom would be this cold. I'll probably have to leave you now, because I think three more minutes in this place will give me some form of pneumonia, or hypothermia. Or frostbite. And then we'd have to amputate my extremities, and then where would we be?

Hmph. You'd think a college that lives off donations from alumni would at least have the good sense to heat the bathrooms...

Speaking of bathrooms, I was thinking of getting Ulquiorra a set of bath towels and lotions and stuff for Christmas. I really don't know what to get him.

But he seems like the lotion-y, chapstick-y type of guy; his lips were insanely soft.

Beeswax?

God, I'm really sorry about this, but I have to go now, I really can't stand this temperature. It's hellish.

If hell were cold, of course.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

I just walked by Room 405 and happened to look inside. Grimmjow wasn't there, although his hideous black and blue argyle sweater was slung over the back of an empty chair. That's how ugly it is, that I can see it from over 50 feet away and recognize it as his. If ever a sweater was abused and disfigured, it would be that one.

Anyway, I was rather surprised because he's supposed to be taking his chemistry final right now, and clearly he's not. What a bad student, honestly.

It's really cold this time of year, but that's okay. I like cold weather. Although Christmas and the other religious holidays I could do without.

Am I getting Grimmjow something for Christmas? That depends on two things.

1. How generous I'm feeling. If I'm feeling in a particularly good mood, sure, why the hell not, I'll blow a few bucks on a pack of gum or a new sweater or something. Because he really does need a new sweater, and I refuse to be seen walking around campus with someone as hideously decked out as he usually is. You would think an English major would be more conscious about his personal appearance, but no. I guess he's absentminded.

2. How kindly I'm feeling toward him in particular. If I'm feeling particularly poorly towards him, well, no gift.

It's as simple as that.

Szayel's been rather depressed the past few weeks. Something about that Abercrombie model thing not panning out. I TOLD him before that he didn't have the musculature to do something like that, but he told me that he would just get some steroids from the football players and then he would go audition.

Well, needless to say, he didn't get the steroids, or the Abercrombie model gig. He tearfully showed me the paper: "REASON FOR REJECTION: APPLICANT DOES NOT HAVE THE MUSCULATURE."

Now, I've been raised a polite boy, but there are just some times when you need to say I told you so.

And I did.

And he sobbed on my shoulder for a good half hour, complaining about how the world was out to get him and eat his soul while I stood there and said nothing. Then he pulled away and said I was an excellent listener, and I should consider being a personal therapist.

I would definitely not want to be a personal therapist. I have enough problems of my own without having to listen to other people's.

At any rate, I should get going. I'm in the middle of an Anatomy final, and I have to dissect three pigs, one fetal sheep, and a goat, all while labeling their innards and dousing them in preservative liquid for the next student. I just happened to want to take a breath of fresh air, and just so happened to walk by Grimmjow's exam room.

That's all. It's not out of my way.

I just happened to take a little detour, because the sidewalks along my normal route were frosted over and slippery.

No, really.

God, I hate the smell of formaldehyde...


	14. The Coffee Killer

_I got sunburnt on my arms and face...I look like a lobster T-T_

* * *

><p>Fuck. My. Life.<p>

No. Really.

Quite a lot has transpired since I've talked to you fine people last, but in that amount of time, I somehow managed to get screwed over by two very different and two hopefully unrelated incidents caused by two very different and two hopefully unrelated people. Actually, I kind of hope the two people are somehow related, because that would explain a lot.

Let's start with the first incident, because I find it's easier to tell stories if they go in chronological order. For those of you who disagree with me, it's like Harry Potter. I mean, the series would be practically pointless if you mixed up the books; you can't have Voldemort dying in the first one and then coming back as a baby in the second one, y'know? Then he'd be an Inferi, and that's really the last thing I need.

Anyway, so finals were over, right, and I had just met up with Ulquiorra after his anatomy final (ha, I told you he was in anatomy, my God, the smell of formaldehyde in that room was so strong it could have killed a bull moose three hundred feet away), and we were going to get coffee, it being a rather cold day and all. That part was all fine. We went into the shop, got coffee, came out.

It was when we were walking through the university campus with our hot coffees that things started to go wrong.

First of all, Ulquiorra tsked and looked at me condescendingly when I told him that my chemistry final hadn't exactly gone the way I'd expected and how I had had no idea what the exact atomic weight of francium was. I mean, really, who knows that kind of stuff? Besides the guy who discovered it, maybe the country of France, and Ulquiorra. I don't get why they give all these elements such weird names anyway. Like xenon, for instance. Who the fuck would think of a name like that?

Second of all, he eyed my favorite black and blue argyle sweater with disdain. What had the poor sweater ever done to him? I mean, sure, it had some holes in the sleeves, and had been patched over three times in the elbows, and sure, there might have been some stains on the blue parts, but what does that matter? That sweater was damn comfortable, and there he was, just walking along and glaring at it as if it had offended him in a particularly nasty way, with comments about his mother and racial epithets.

And I guess I could handle that, because a) I know I'm not great at chemistry, and b) I didn't particularly care for his white coat either. White is such a bland color, I think.

Thirdly, we were quietly walking along sipping our hot coffees when out of nowhere Gin, my RA, barrels down the pathway in his expensive Armani suit and Italian loafers and Ray-Bans. With the way he was sprinting down the sidewalk, you would think he was on some episode of Miami Vice or something and trying to catch a particularly fast drug dealer in some particularly shady area of town. Anyway, he wasn't, because there was no one behind us, and to this day I still think he was on some secret camera, auditioning for the next installment of the Matrix.

He failed, needless to say, and because the sidewalks were kind of icy, he slipped about ten feet before he reached us. And he slid those ten feet into us. And I lost my balance (Ulquiorra by this point had already stepped calmly out of the way) and spilled hot coffee all over myself and Gin. Who, by the way, picked himself right back up after the fall and continued sprinting. Gotta give that guy some credit. Never gives up. A real team player. Not.

So I suffered second-degree burns on my hands and part of my neck, and that was pretty terrible. And I was as red as an Alaskan king crab for about two weeks after that. And then I started peeling, and that was just horrendous. Like I was a reptile, and I was molting, or something.

You would think nothing could top that, but you'd be wrong. You'd be dead wrong.

A few weeks before Christmas, I was shopping for a gift for Ulquiorra. It was pretty late at night, so there weren't very many people in the store. I was just walking along the aisles, looking for gifts, minding my own business, when, out of nowhere (again), Szayel comes barreling down the aisle, ramming directly into me and waving some sort of rod in my face.

I very politely asked him what the hell he was doing, and he sobbed violently something into my shoulder that I didn't quite understand. By this time, some employees and other customers had gathered and were eavesdropping "inconspicuously," so I pushed him off me, picked him up, and left, because I really didn't want to cause any bigger of a scene. Ulquiorra's Christmas gift would just have to wait.

I very politely asked Szayel if he would like to have a cup of coffee to calm him down, and he tearfully agreed. So we were walking along, sipping our coffees, when he turned to me and said, very clearly, "Grimmjow, I have a confession to make."

"And this confession would be?"

"I...I'm pregnant. And you're the father."

At this point, the mouthful of hot coffee that I had ended up all over Szayel's face, and he ran away screaming into the night.

I should probably stop drinking coffee, it appears to be quite harmful to anything and anybody in my immediate vicinity.

I could be the Coffee Killer, and commission James Patterson to write a novel about me.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert<strong>

After our finals, we were walking along the sidewalk with coffee, when Grimmjow's RA just comes running out of nowhere. He slips. He falls. He slides into Grimmjow. And Grimmjow spills his hot coffee all over himself.

I, of course, stepped aside, because I have excellent reflexes. I'm trained in four different styles of martial arts, and can kill you with a flick of my thumb.

And thank God for that RA's interruption. Now I have an excuse to burn that hideous sweater of his.

One fine night in early December, I was calmly reading a book on cloning and the ethics of said practice, when Szayel burst into my dorm room, uninvited of course.

He shoved this white rod into my face, right in front of my eyes, so I couldn't help but notice what it was.

The little screen had a "+" on it.

I looked at him. He looked at me. I looked at him, at my book, then back at him.

"Well?" he demanded. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Oh. Why, yes, yes I was," I replied.

"Well, spit it out, then!" he shouted. "I'm pregnant and very clearly hormonal, and I don't like to be kept waiting!"

"Well, I was just going to say that I was going to get a coat hanger."

"...A coat hanger?" he asked, clearly confused.

"A wire one," I clarified.

It took him a while, but all of a sudden, he paled and gasped. "YOU MONSTER!" he shrieked at me. "How could you even think of doing such a thing to my precious little baby?"

And he left dramatically, slamming the door behind him.

That was very rude, see. I wasn't done with my sentence. But I said it anyway.

" - or I was going to find a nice flight of stairs to surreptitiously push you down upon."

He opened the door, surprising me, as I was expecting him to be long gone.

"I HEARD THAT!" he screamed, and then he slammed the door again.

And my RA wrote me up for disturbing the peace.

I just can't win.


	15. Sorcery

_This was written to Clark Gable - The Postal Service. And I've finally figured out how I'm going to end this story. Rather unusual, since I generally think of endings first...At any rate, it's been a good run, guys. Thanks for reading, and here is an extra long chapter for you all! _

_By the way, there's not one, but TWO alternate endings at the bottom, and I'll clearly mark it for you. _

* * *

><p>Christmas morning dawned bright and cold and windy. The windows were frosted over, the air smelled like winter and oh-so-pure, and...oh, there went my mom, screaming for me to wake up, it's Christmas already, and what an atrocity it would be to waste the day.<p>

What an atrocity indeed.

By the time I got downstairs, Ulquiorra was already sitting at the table, cupping a mug of steaming tea in hands partially covered with too-long sweater sleeves. Papa Jeagerjacques was thumbing through an old copy of the Times, and Mama Jeagerjacques was standing at the stove, stirring furiously at some sketchy-looking brown stuff that I sincerely hoped would taste better than it looked. You never really know with her. She mainly gets her cooking ideas from books. Like the time after she read The Neverending Story. We had eel pie for WEEKS.

At any rate, I'd rather not go there. That's another story for another time, and, anyway, I've tried very hard to repress the memory from surfacing into full consciousness.

I poured myself a cup of tea with honey and lemon, and slid into the seat next to Ulquiorra.

"Hey, all, Merry Christmas."

He smiled at me, a relaxed, unstressed smile. Something I hadn't seen in a while, what with finals and Szayel's supposed "pregnancy" and whatnot. In my defense, I really have no idea how the guy got hCG into his bloodstream. If you don't know what that is, hCG is a hormone produced during pregnancy, a week or so after conception, that can be detected on a pregnancy test.

But I mean, who knows what he's been inhaling in his lab. I wouldn't put it past him to steal someone else's urine, either.

Szayel's creepy-weird like that. And somehow, he either forced or begged some poor soul to take him home for the Christmas holidays. At least, that's the rumor, anyway.

I would elaborate more on that matter, but a) I really don't think you need to hear any more about Szayel and his forays into the unknown, and b) it was around this time that Mama Jeagerjacques plunked down plates of...how would you describe it? Glop?...on the table in front of Ulquiorra and me. Papa Jeagerjacques picked up his spoon and dug in without hesitation, never once taking his eyes off his newspaper. Ulquiorra approached it more cautiously, and, well, as for me, when I looked down and saw a little pincer waving around, I passed out.

Hey. What can I say? I'm an English major, not a bachelor of science.

When I look down at my food, I would like to be reassured that it's not alive. Or moving. That would be nice.

* * *

><p>I woke up to find Ulquiorra rubbing an egg over my arm.<p>

I just looked at him, and he looked back at me.

"What in the hell are you doing?" I inquired, a bit grumpy, as I had a headache.

He said nothing, and after he was done with a thorough egg-rubbing of my arm, he broke the egg into a plastic bowl that was conveniently nearby. I looked in the bowl, and there were all these tiny black specks floating throughout the egg white and yolk.

"What sorcery is this?"

He grinned and said, "It's Christmas."

And then he was butted out of my frame of vision as Mama Jeagerjacques gently shooed him out of the way and stood over me, frowning.

"I made that very nice breakfast for you, and then what do you go and do? Go and faint in it, that's what you do. Ulquiorra must be so embarrassed to have a boyfriend like you. Good Lord! Now get up, you're taking up the whole couch and your cousins will be here soon."

* * *

><p>My relatives arrived a few hours after I was unceremoniously manhandled off the couch. Or womanhandled, as the case may be, since Papa Jeagerjacques was STILL reading his newspaper and Ulquiorra chose to stand off to the side and laugh his ass off.<p>

They trooped in one by one bearing prettily-wrapped packages and huge dishes of God-knows-what, and I hoped for my sake that they contained something at least halfway edible and very, very dead.

My senile, old uncle greeted me and Ulquiorra enthusiastically with vigorous handshakes and much clappings on the back. He leaned in and conspiratorially whispered something in Ulquiorra's ear, something that made the poor fellow blush all the way up to the roots of his hair.

The entryway of the house was cluttered with people's shoes and coats and scarves, and I was almost afraid that Ulquiorra wouldn't find this kind of social gathering enjoyable. I say almost, because I found him in the kitchen just a few minutes later discussing the merits of different brands of pipette with one of my cousins.

He looked incredibly happy, and I just stood there in the doorway, smiling a little bit dazedly, and perfectly content. Perfectly content, that is, until my littlest cousin ran into the backs of my legs and toppled over and started crying.

Ulquiorra looked over and smiled at me as I scooped little Jack up and carried him off to the bathroom so he could wash his face.

* * *

><p>Christmas dinner was incredibly delicious. There were no antennae waving from any of the dishes, and there were at least five different kinds of pies.<p>

Shameless that I am, I ate practically everything in sight.

Ulquiorra, polite that he is, ate daintily, like a gentleman. Of course.

And then, presents. Because what is Christmas without presents?

Amidst the fray of wrapping paper and noisy whoops of delight, I handed Ulquiorra a small, rectangular package. He held it and looked at me. "Should I shake it or not?"

"It's not going to make a sound, but by all means, go ahead and shake it."

He shook it, of course, and of course it didn't make a sound. I'm no liar.

Very carefully, he slit the tape with his nail and unfolded the (very nice, in my opinion) wrapping paper, to reveal a (very nice, once again, in my opinion, but I'm sure anyone would agree) wrought iron book-type thing. He looked at me curiously.

"Open it," I told him.

He carefully pressed the button on the side, and the book snapped open.

I was on the right side. He was on the left.

He smiled slightly. "Bit conceited, isn't it? Giving a picture of yourself?"

I smiled back. "Does it matter?"

He handed me a rather large rectangular box. "Here. For you."

I shook it. Of course. It made a soft whump-ing noise, and looking at him very carefully, I ripped open the paper, opened the box, and pulled out a very nice black and blue argyle sweater.

I laughed. "It's exactly like my old one."  
>He nodded. "Yes, except I burned your old one."<p>

My senile old uncle, three feet over on the sofa covered in wrapping paper, roared with laughter. "That boy of yours has got a good head on his shoulders. Thank God! Finally burning that filthy thing, sonny, was a brave act. Should give you a medal of honor."

The clock in the living room started to chime midnight. Jack, who had run into my legs earlier, giggled and said, "Look above you!"

A bunch of mistletoe hung right above us, and of course I couldn't help but think that this had been staged in some way, and that at any moment, Ashton Kutcher would leap out from behind the sofa and scream, "You've been punk'd!"

But of course that didn't happen, because Ashton Kutcher could not be bothered with English-majoring, faint-at-the-sight-of-moving-things me.

I looked at Ulquiorra. "Shall we?"

He smiled. And I took that for a yes.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert: Happy Ending; Ending 1<strong>

I woke up to Grimmjow shaking me like a madman.

"Good God, I thought you had gone comatose in your sleep! Bloody hell, hurry up and get ready, we're going to be late as it is!"

I bolted upright. That was unusual. I've never slept through my alarm clock.

And if the numbers were right, Grimmjow was right. We were going to be late.

He practically shoved me into my suit and tie while I hastily ran a wet comb through my hair.

He practically shoved me into the car, and while I was trying not to wrinkle my shirt, drove like a madman through the dense late morning traffic.

He shoved me out of the car.

Quite a lot of shoving going on.

I would have commented on how rude it was, if we hadn't already been late for our own wedding.

He finally stopped hurrying when we got past the glaring receptionist, who seemed to tsk-tsk us. He took a deep breath.

"You look fantastic. Positively fantastic."

And then he dashed through the church doors, and I hoped to God he didn't trip in the aisle.

A few moments later, I heard the organ playing, watched as the church doors swung open slowly to reveal a standing crowd, all dressed in their best, all smiling.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the church.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert; Sad Ending; Ending 2<strong>

I woke up to see Grimmjow sleeping, his head resting on the side of my hospital bed.

Everything was quiet, except for the soft beeping of the machines and the shuffle and squeak of doctors' and nurses' shoes in the hallway outside.

I quietly patted his hair, trying to remember what the texture of mine had been like before I lost it all.

He woke up.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he was pale and gaunt. I almost felt like he should have been the one in the bed; I'm sure he looked just as bad as I felt.

"Hey, how are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm fine...really tired, I guess. I was just thinking about that Christmas we spent at your house."

He smiled slightly. "You mean the one where Szayel burst through the doors with Damien and screamed that he'd finally gotten someone to be the father for his food baby, because clearly I was incapable?"

I tried to smile back, but even that took too much effort. "Yeah, that's the one."

He frowned, biting at his lower lip slightly. "Do you need anything? Some water, or whatnot? Food? You should try to eat some, you look peaky."  
>I let out a weak laugh that came out more like a cough. "You're starting to sound like your mother."<p>

He sighed and reached for my hand, pale, thin, wasted. "How can I not? I worry about you all the time."

"I know."

He absentmindedly rubbed the base of my fourth finger, where my ring would have been if only I hadn't lost so much weight.

"I'm sorry, you know," I told him, fighting to keep my eyes open.  
>"Don't be. Please, don't be," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my palm.<p>

"I love you a lot."

He was crying.

"I love you too. I love you so much."

And then I went to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Ulquiorra Insert; Happy Ending; Ending 3<strong>

I woke up to Grimmjow shaking me like a maniac, as he's prone to do.

"Good God, I thought you were comatose in your sleep or something! Bloody hell, hurry up or we'll both be late!"

He practically shoved me into my lab coat and thrust half a grapefruit into my hands while simultaneously tightening my tie.

He practically shoved me into the car and ran a good amount of red lights before screeching to a stop in front of Mass General.

He almost double parked and practically shoved me out of the car.

There was quite a lot of shoving going on this morning.

I would've said something about it, but I was busy with my grapefruit segments.

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead.

"I'll catch up with you later. But in the meantime, lots of English students to teach, and you have lots of patients to take care of."

"Yeah, sure."

He grabbed his briefcase out of the car and started to sprint down the sidewalk before he abruptly wheeled around and dashed back to me.

"Hey, I love you, you know?"

I grinned.

"Yeah, I know."


End file.
